


Pulling Me Under

by el3anorrigby



Series: Illya and Napoleon Drabbles [9]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Missing Scene, Movie Reference, Napoleon is a Tease, Pre-Slash, Some Fluff, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is not happy with Napoleon's remark regarding his bow tie. Now, what is he going to do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Me Under

**Author's Note:**

> "That bow tie doesn't work with that suit" was what Napoleon told Illya in the movie. And then in the next scene, we see Illya meeting Gaby and he had changed the bow tie, obviously listening to Napoleon's advice. So what happened in between? 
> 
> This story is actually based on an entry from Mizozoh on Tumblr.

“Kuryakin?”

Illya doesn’t bother to acknowledge a surprised Napoleon, simply forces his way inside the American’s room as he growls his dissatisfaction with a fierce frown on his face.

“There is nothing wrong with this bow tie.”

Napoleon almost chuckles, understanding at once Illya’s reason for his unceremonious visit to his room.

“Ah, so you are here for the fashion tips.”

“You mocked me,” Illya barks.

Napoleon smirks then does that little head shake which Illya finds irritating (and oddly endearing at the same time). Annoyed with himself for daring to even think of such thoughts of this infuriating man before him, he menacingly steps closer.

“You do not want a repeat of our restroom scuffle. If it hadn’t been for Oleg, I would’ve snapped your neck easily,” he warns, reminding Napoleon he should know just when to stop. But Napoleon simply dismisses his threat, implying Illya’s presence doesn’t intimidate him one bit. He is still wary though, just in case Illya decides to thrash his room. How he had flipped over the table in that Berlin cafe (which had set Napoleon’s pulse racing like mad), is a clear indication of what Illya could do and the havoc that follows is a certain distraction Napoleon doesn’t need. Not that Illya being there and them being partners aren’t distracting enough.

“Now, now, Peril,” he starts, “I wasn’t mocking you. I’m merely saying the bow tie doesn’t go with your suit. If you don’t believe me, go look in the mirror.”

He seems sincere enough but Illya is still unsatisfied with his answer. Cursing underneath his breath, he turns towards the mirror which is placed beside the ridiculously large bed Napoleon has all to himself and grumbles out loud at his reflection. “I look perfectly fine.”

Napoleon sighs at his disgruntled partner. “You look more than just fine, Peril.”

Napoleon realises how that might have sounded to Illya’s ears as soon as the words escaped his mouth when the Russian turns at him with more confusion in his blue eyes. But Napoleon had meant everything he had said.

“It’s not you,” Napoleon convinces Illya again, forcing his point. “The problem is the bow tie with the suit. It doesn’t go together.”

“And you, American Cowboy, think you know better?” asks Illya with arms folded across his chest.

“Of course I know better. Why else would you be here in my room if my earlier words hadn’t struck something in you? Obviously, my opinion had mattered,” Napoleon says with a smile. A genuine one. And something strange he has never felt before tugs at Illya’s heart at the sight. Hating whatever emotions Napoleon has managed to stir in him, Illya averts his eyes away from the man and then shakes his head. He wonders why he even entertained the idea of stomping into Napoleon's room just to prove his point.

“This is bad idea. I should not be here. Made mistake.”

Heading straight for the door, Illya shrugs Napoleon’s hand off his shoulder (he wonders how it had got there in the first place?), but then the American quickly tugs at his arm, stopping him from leaving. He turns Illya around.

“Wait, wait, Peril. I can’t let you leave when you’d come here for my help. Let me see if I can find a tie that matches that outfit, okay?”

“Forget it. I’m wasting time. Gaby’s waiting for me.”

“Is she really?”

Illya growls. Napoleon’s mocking is really getting out of hand, and his hands freely touching him without fear annoys the hell out of Illya. He ought to put a stop to it, he should shove him back, maybe pin him against the wall behind them or, better still, push him down on that bed of his. Illya would then have one strong arm across his broad chest, his other hand gripping Napoleon’s wrists hard, high above his head. Illya ought to do that just so he could teach him who’s really in control.

The idea of what he wants to do to Napoleon has his chest heaving. And when he realises what he’d done, Illya’s slightly mortified. And all the while, Napoleon still has a firm grip on his arm, not letting go of his hold.

“I need to go,” Illya says but Napoleon, being Napoleon, refuses to listen.

“No, not yet. Come on, I may have something that goes with your suit,” he says instead before turning towards his closet.

“Solo, this is unnecessary.”

But Napoleon merely ignores his Soviet friend, starts searching through his collection of ties he had hung neatly in the closet. Illya curses silently. Talk about damn capitalist needs!

“Maybe this will work for you,” Napoleon starts, but then he pauses just when he is about to pass Illya the tie in his hand and hums, “hold on, wait a minute. Think this goes better with my suit."

To Illya’s annoyance, Napoleon starts to hold said tie against one of his own suit which is hung inside his closet, taking his time admiring it and then mutters, “Hmm, think you’ll need another one, Peril. Hold on just for one second. I’m sure I have something that’s just right for you.”

“This is taking too long,” Illya warns but it proves to be futile because Napoleon simply turns and searches for another one of his ties. This CIA agent is certainly toying with him and Illya’s frustration grows with every delayed second. He clenches his fists.

“Do not play games with me, Solo.”

“I’m not. Want you to look your best when meeting your fiancé’s uncle. You’d need to make a good impression as a young handsome architect who’d managed to capture his niece’s heart.”

Illya rolls his eyes when Napoleon winks at him. He then starts to move towards Illya with a silky dark emerald green coloured tie weaved in between his fingers.

“Here let me put this on you.”

This Cowboy certainly has a death wish if he thinks Illya is even going to entertain that idea, but before he could stop him, Napoleon already has his hands on Illya’s bow tie, the piece of garment gone in a matter of seconds, starts looping his tie of choice around Illya’s collar. Illya’s eyes widen, unable to process he is actually letting Napoleon get away with it. Although he has a good mind to strangle him at the moment, he’s rendered speechless somehow. And the man has the nerve to smile at him while his hand is busy straightening the knot.

“There you go,” Napoleon says a minute later. His hand is smoothing the creases on Illya’s shirt, then lingers on his shoulder tantalisingly. “Much better now, Peril. You look handsome indeed.”

Illya breathes in, eyes fixed on Napoleon’s infuriating gaze. He really ought to do something about it, because how could he simply let Napoleon get away with what he had done? And just when Illya thinks that moment between them is about to pass (whatever it was Illya has no idea), he finds his fingers curling around Napoleon’s neck. And before Napoleon could react, Illya’s other hand flies up to cup his face. He’s looming before him, all six feet five inches of him, and for a brief moment, Napoleon shuddered at the contact, but then he starts smiling at Illya.

“Do I deserve a reward for helping you out?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow, and that just infuriates the Russian, his patience finally snapping.

“No, you should be taught a lesson,” Illya drawls.

For a split second Napoleon thinks Illya is going to snap his neck into two and that his death will be embarrassingly quick at the hands of this KGB agent, but then the next thing he knows, he is being pulled into a fierce kiss, Illya’s hand fisting his collar as he ravishes Napoleon’s mouth, leaving a series of little explosions to go off inside his head. As the kiss goes on, Napoleon hears moans of pleasure, and he is certain he is not the only one making those sounds.

“Next time, do not be so bold with me, Cowboy. The punishment will be more severe,” Illya mutters against his lips after he pulls away. Napoleon notices Illya’s flushed cheeks as he swallows, steps back from a startled Napoleon. He straightens himself then starts for the door.

“Peril?”

Illya turns just as he’s about to leave. “What?"

Napoleon smiles a little dazedly at the Russian, a finger thumbing his own lips which is still tingling from Illya’s kiss. “Have a good time with Gaby.”

Illya scoffs, knows Napoleon has completely ruined it for him. This mission is going to hell indeed and Napoleon is the one pulling him under. Surprisingly so, Illya has no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I watched the movie a couple of times, and I'm not really sure of the colour of Illya's tie :D  
> Please correct me if I'm wrong.  
> 2\. The last of the drabble series


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